Bruised

Chosen

I breathe into you.

Rest as I bandage weal and wound

mark, mangle,

bend and break.

A tiny bruised blade of grass.

I brace on pillars of stone,

bind against stanchions of truth,

guard with promise of amends.

Quietly I whisper peace,

arouse what smolders and seethes,

reignite to consume,

dare live yet longer,

in hope.

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